


The Rift

by Hannahbette



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 03:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9638726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannahbette/pseuds/Hannahbette
Summary: inspired by the events of “the last mabelcorn”. because i am still in pain





	

“We need to talk.”

The stern nature of the statement caused Stanford’s whistling to dwindle to a low pitch. He swerved around to face his partner, the assortment of objects inside the cardboard box he carried rattling against one another.

Fiddleford was seated on the sofa, hands folded neatly on his lap. Ford audibly gulped, discerning the position as him meaning business.

“Can’t it wait until dinner?” he asked, subconsciously grinding his heel into the carpet. He bounced the container up and down. “I’m in the middle of transporting these artifacts down to my study. Afterwards I thought I would just stay there to-”

“To meditate. I know. Y’think after living with a man for eleven months I wouldn’t know his daily schedule off by heart?” Fiddleford chimed in. He flashed a smile at the author, but something about it seemed slightly off. Forced.

“But I’ve been meanin’ to discuss somethin’… important, with you.”

He scooted over to the right side of the couch and patted the cushion next to him, signaling for Stanford to join him. With a fleeting glance at the door, Ford unloaded the box onto a stray ottoman and plunked down next to him.

Fiddleford sat for a moment, seemingly unable to say a word. He hunched over and stared blankly at his loafers before heaving in a large gulp of air. His hand slipped into Ford’s; slender fingers lacing in-between his six fatter ones.

“I’m worried,” Fiddleford softly told him. Ford blinked, seemingly incapable of picking up on the underlying dread in his voice.

“Huh? Worried about what, exactly?” Ford questioned, raising an eyebrow. He felt Fiddleford’s digits brush lightly against his knuckles.

“You’ve been actin’ awfully strange as of lately, Stanford. And not… not the good, ‘you’ kind of strange. Strange bad. Somethin’ I’m not acquainted with.”

Frowning, Ford wriggled out of his boyfriend’s warm grasp. “I’m not sure I’m on the same page as you,” he admitted, crossing his arms. Strange? He’s practically the same as he’s ever been.

Fiddleford appeared to ignore the gesture and went on.

“I believe it’s just the constant work that’s gettin’ to ya. Takin’ a toll on your attitude, your mind. The outbursts have been gettin’ more and more frequent. I just don’t understand how it happens. One moment- you… we’re eating breakfast, chattin’ about the Kinetic Molecular Theory when suddenly you’re off breaking dishware an’ calling me a… what was it, a useless beanpole?“

“I never called you a…” Ford stopped, eyes widening. The bewildered expression he wore was wiped from his mug.

Bill. He’s talking about Bill.

Why is he the most brash and careless whenever he takes residence in Ford’s body? He didn’t understand it. Bill was smart, possibly leagues smarter than him, and so charming. Why does possession impel him to be so hostile, especially to Fiddleford? Bill had to be aware of their relationship by now…

Thoughts jumbled around in Ford’s brain as he tried to construct some sort of excuse as to why he was acting so off lately.

“I- I never questioned it. I figured y’ had enough stress with the inter-dimensional portal. But that doesn’t make it any less offputtin’,” Fiddleford explained. The room began to feel like it was shrinking; closing in on the both of them. Forcing both men closer and closer. Ford’s hands started to go clammy.

“Please,” Fiddleford whispered, cupping Ford’s face. “Jus’ tell me what’s going on. I wanna help you, Stanford.”

Ford shut his eyes in an effort to restrain the tricks his mind was playing on him.

“I’m tired! Just… everything’s a product of restless nights. Don’t worry about it,” he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Fiddleford furrowed his eyebrows. “Tired…? But, you insist on heading to bed at 7:30 each night, and sleep till NOON, sometimes. Then ya go straight to writin’ in the journals.”

Stanford sighed.

“Whether you chose to believe me or not is up to you,” he said, standing up. He blocked out his coworker, aiming his vision at the half-closed bathroom door. He didn’t have the heart to look at him; to see the hope draining from his appearance.

“I’m going downstairs to get some peace and quiet. Maybe there I won’t be accused of being a liar by my own assistant.”

A sharp inhale sounded behind him. His head veered around to see Fiddleford fishing out a crumpled up piece of paper from the pocket of his lab coat, forcing it in front of Ford. His hand was trembling uncontrollably.

“Then w-what is this?”

Scrawled on it was Stanford’s swirly handwriting, recounting one of his business meetings with Bill in great detail. Underneath it was various formulas that he had scribbled down, prior to the session. Nervousness bubbled up inside of Ford’s chest, constricting his breathing.

“Th-that was a personal entry in one of my notebooks…” he remarked, taken aback. But the excuse had no effect on the other man, who had jumped up to level his face with Ford’s.

“I wanted to believe you so bad. And you go and do this THING behind my back and lie to me about it?!” he asked, color now flowing in his cheeks. Ford observed his now apparent irritation and prepared to deliver the same amount in return. His expression twisted into a scowl.

“Well, what is it to you, anyways?” he barked, raising his arms. “Am I legally bound to tell you every aspect of my personal life?”

“Damnit, Stanford! I am your lover! Let alone your research assistant,” Fiddleford declared. “The least you could do is be honest with me.”

Ford silently lingered near the doorway. Any answer or explanation he could give would just escalate tensions between them further, he figured. However, silence only seemed to infuriate the blonde more.

“Where are these ideas comin’ from? Who are you working for?!” Fiddleford bellowed, angrily crumpling up the paper in his fist.

Stanford’s lips tightened into a straight line. Despite being oblivious the majority of the time, he could tell that his boyfriend was at the end of his rope. “If I told you, you wouldn’t understand… or even believe me.”

“Stan, I’ve seen a lotta stuff in this town that I didn’t ever think I’d see in my lifetime. I can handle somethin’ a little bizarre if it’s the complete and honest truth,” he responded, laying a hand on his shoulder. Ford hated lying to him. He really did. And he wasn’t going to risk their whole friendship over something as trivial as a white lie.

“I’m not actually-” Ford was interrupted by a violent throbbing detonating inside his head. He staggered backwards, muttering cusses under his breath before violently toppling back into the ottoman. The cardboard box was knocked over, spilling its’ contents out onto the floor.

Fiddleford gasped, proceeding to hover over Ford’s unmoving body. He knelt down, tenderly stroking the back of his head.

“Stanford?! Are you alright?” he called out. Ford’s eyes shot open, accompanied with a grin creeping onto his face. The whites had been switched out for cadmium yellows; his pupils like slits.

A chill ran up Fiddleford’s spine as his booming voice suddenly filled the room.

“Better than alright! I think I just bruised the entire lower region of my back. That’s gonna hurt in the morning!” he exclaimed with a grin. Gripped with unease, Fiddleford slowly backed away from where Stanford laid. It was happening again.

“Something the matter, Fiddlesticks?” ‘Ford’ inquired, rubbing his chin. He rose, using the sofa as support, and towered over Fiddleford: shrouding him in shadow. “Are you afraid to see your pitiful alliance with me start to crumble?”

Fiddleford glared straight into his unblinking eyes. “This shtick yer playing out ain’t funny, Stanford. I genuinely thought you were hurt.”

“Oho, but it’s not a shtick- that’s what makes it hilarious! I genuinely loathe the sight of you!” ‘Ford’ roared, pressing his forehead against Fiddleford’s. “Please, do us both a favor and pack your bags already. You’d be a lot better off… forgetting about me!” He went off into a cackle, clutching his stomach.

The dramatic shift in demeanor… the eye color altering drastically… was this the outcome of something supernatural transpiring? The mechanic squinted, deep in contemplation.

He wasn’t fit to recognize the signs. Sometimes he had tagged along on Ford’s field trips in the woods, but never had he seen anything that extreme.

Or anything to explain what was happening right before him.

“You’re not him- are you?”

The question proposed terminated the laughter.

Smirk still plastered to his mouth, ‘Ford’ leaned over; breath tickling Fiddleford’s ear. “Took you long enough to figure that out,” he hissed. “Gee, for the kind of genius Sixer claims you are, y’sure are stupid! But hey- I don’t mind intellect. In fact, I prefer them ignorant. They’re so much more amusing to play with!”

The engineer shoved ‘Ford’ away from him, wildly blushing.

“Who are you? And what have you done with Stan?” he ordered, hands balling into fists.

“Ha! You think I’m just gonna tell you? Where’s the fun in that?! Besides, beanpole: you scrambling around for answers is more entertaining to me than any soap opera on intergalactic cable!”

Fiddleford grimaced. “Are… you the one he’s working for?”

‘Ford’ shuffled towards him, half-lidded eyes piercing into him.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” he uttered. “But you aren’t going to find out any time soon. What you need to get through your thick human skull is that I’m always watching. Stanford practically worships the ground I float over. Any attempts to squeeze some information out of him, and I mean ANY, I’ll just be back here in his place! There will be a point soon where I won’t need him anymore. And I can assure you, I value his life just about as much as the common banana peal you earthlings throw out on a day-to-day basis.“

Fiddleford shuddered at the threat. He combed his hair back before licking his lips and staring daggers into the shell of his boyfriend.

“Al-alright,” he stuttered. “I’m not gonna ask him anything.” ‘Ford’s hand made its’ way onto the top of Fiddleford’s head.

“Good choice,” he said, ruffling his hair. “Just remember: I’ve got my eye on you!”

With that, Ford’s pupils rolled back and his body teetered. Fiddleford quickly grabbed him by the collar of his sweater vest and yanked him forward. Ford’s weight inclined against him, his arms dangling lifelessly over his shoulders.

His boss regained consciousness with a start.

“Wha-? What happened?” he questioned tiredly.

“You became overwhelmed… uh, by our fight, and ya fainted,” Fiddleford lied, rubbing his back through his layers of clothing.

Mouth somewhat agape, Ford buried his face into his partner’s neck. “Oh,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Fiddleford cooed.

“Nooo, for yelling at you. I shouldn’t have done that. It was really uncalled for.”

No response came. His assistant just continued to hold him and bask in the stillness of the scene.

Fiddleford pondered the next few weeks of their lives together. Maybe after the portal is done, he told himself. 

Maybe then things will revert back to normal.


End file.
